The Price of a Fool's Choice

“I want Isabella to present your game for the E3 Game Show.”

My husband Michael’s voice cut through my concentration as I sketched a character design.

I stared at the man I had spent five years with.

“Don’t be so petty, Sophia,” he said, his voice cold as stone.

“The studio needs fresh blood. My decision is final.”

He wanted to hand my masterpiece to his new assistant.

I clenched my fists, a fire of rage churning inside me.

Fine. If this is how he wanted to play it, he couldn’t blame me for walking away.

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1

Michael and I had been married for five years.

I never thought he would steal the game I designed and hand it over to an assistant who had only been there for two weeks.

As the spotlights flared to life, Isabella stood on the presentation stage, deftly demonstrating the game prototype I had designed.

The betrayal was a shock of ice water down my spine.

The game critics in the audience watched Isabella in awe.

The publishers were nodding in eager approval.

I even heard someone whisper, “This newcomer is one to watch.”

“Her design language is so mature and bold, comparable to a veteran designer with over a decade of experience!”

I sat in the back row, watching a girl seven years my junior command the world I had built with my own hands.

She elegantly raised a hand, pointing out the details that were mine, explaining my design philosophy as if she were interpreting her own work.

Michael sat in the front row, his eyes brimming with undisguised pride, as if he had just discovered an uncut diamond.

At the after-party, he raised a toast to Isabella, hailing her as the “brightest new star at Michael Games” and an example for all.

Under the table, I bit my lower lip so hard I could taste the metallic tang of blood.

After the party, I waited for Michael outside his private lounge.

When he saw me, his face was still flushed with excitement, his eyes sparkling. He had no idea a storm was about to break.

“Sophia, did you see that? Isabella is so talented! Your game practically came to life in her hands!”

I took a deep breath. The cloying sweetness of the champagne turned my stomach.

“Michael, that was my design.”

He paused for a moment, then waved his hand dismissively.

“Oh, that.”

“I just thought Isabella needed an opportunity, so I let her try out your game.”

Try out.

The product of three months of sleepless nights was, in his eyes, just a toy for an assistant to “try out.”

“Do you know what this game means to me? That was the work I was preparing to submit to the international GDC!”

A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by that sense of entitlement.

“You win awards every year anyway. What’s the big deal if she gets one?”

“Besides, this is just the E3 preview, not the official competition at GDC.”

I felt an icy hand clutch my chest. Blood roared in my ears.

“Michael, what am I to you?”